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thinking how being so young and horny all the time had its disadvantages. I just need a damn girlfriend.

He smelled his armpit. Oh my God, I smell like three-day-old garlic and onions.

He stood outside the GSA office. Colonel Slade Roberson, GSA Head was embossed on a placard on the door. Just below, a woman’s name he didn’t recognize. The door, locked. The lights turned off. They had either left for the afternoon or were on a break.

Peeking through the large window that framed the office wall, he saw that the place was nice and tidy. A main desk, perhaps for the receptionist, sat on one side of the wall and a separate office with a door was on the other side.

There was a problem, though. Not one piece of paper was on the main desk. No pens, sticky notes, or anything that would tell Drew someone had been recently working there. The dust on the computer screen, plus the cobwebs in the corner verified his suspicion.

He tried the door again, jiggling the knob a few times and pushing into the door. It didn’t budge. He turned around and exited the building. The warehouse was large for a reason. He wanted to see why.

Walking around the building, the warehouse matched the size of the TEC Center, telling Drew it was just as significant, or more so, than the building he was just in. He knew he was right when a guard post near the entrance came into view. It was occupied by two guards. Uniformed guards. Frowning guards. Guard guards. All they needed was a German Shepherd and the tableau would be complete. They were guarding some serious shit.

At the post, Drew held out a press badge, wondering if that would get him anywhere. “Drew Avera, WNN reporter. Can I speak with someone inside the warehouse please?” Maybe that would garner him admittance.

The guard shook his head. “What is this in regards to?”

Drew sighed, needing to give a good show. “Why is everyone giving me the run around today? I arrived here on Colonel Slade Roberson’s orders. I was supposed to interview him in his office and then he was going to give me a tour of the warehouse. Yet he’s not here. I’ve tried to contact the colonel several times, but no answer. Where is he?”

The guard grabbed his clipboard. “You say your name is Drew Avera?”

Drew nodded.

The guard gave a concerned face, not wanting to disappoint Drew. “Well, your name isn’t here, but let me see what I can do.”

“I’m supposed to get a story out soon and it’s about the Colonel, GSA, and TEC. You know, the government contract between GSA and TEC?”

The guard tapped the other guard’s arm. “Hank, give me the two-way radio.”

Hank did and he held the radio to his mouth. “Dispatch, this is Javon. Can you get me Charles? A reporter is here.”

Drew waited, tapping his foot.

Charles came over the radio. “This is Charles. What’s this about, Javon?”

“A reporter,” he pulled the radio from his mouth, asking, “What’s your name again?”

“Drew Avera.”

Javon went back to the radio. “A reporter, Drew Avera from WNN News or something, says he’s on schedule for an interview and a tour of our warehouse.”

“Drew Avera? You mean, that young kid who made the documentary on Smedley Butler and how he stopped the coup against FDR from happening?” There was an underlying excitement in Charles’s voice.

Javon gave Drew a questioning glance.

Drew crossed his arms, grinning. “That’s me.”

“That’s him.”

“Alright. Colonel Slade Roberson isn’t here today, so the best we can do is tour him outside the warehouse,” Charles replied. “I’d love to, but I’m a little indisposed at the moment.”

“Got it.” Javon handed Hank the radio. “Hold the fort, Hank.” He gestured toward Drew. “Follow me.”

An outside tour? He’d have to convince this Javon fellow to give him an inside tour, but how?

Javon took a step out of the guard post, taking in a sniff. He leaned in close, whispering in Drew’s ear. “You got the crippy?”

Drew’s expression went blank. “Huh?”

Javon swiped his hand in the air. “Come this way.”

They went around the corner of the warehouse. “I smell drat all over you.”

“Drat?”

“The chronic, weed, four-twenty, whatever the hell you out of towners call it.”

Not good. This guy must be able to smell weed a mile away.

Drew shook his head, “I don’t smoke that stuff. I mean, I used to in the past, but—”

Javon gave a curt laugh, stepping a few feet to the side and next to a large rock. “Step right next to me.” He pointed on the other side of the rock.

Drew did, and Javon continued, “We’re in the security camera’s blind spot.” His eyebrows rose. “Now, I’m not a genius by any means, but when someone comes up to me smelling as if they just poured a gallon of cheap cologne mixed with marijuana all over them, I know they smoke weed and have smoked recently.”

Drew covered his pocket with his hand. “Shall I get going?”

“No, my man. I just want a hit.”

A hit? Are you kidding me? That’s it? Drew looked around, not believing his ears. “If I give you a hit, can you get me inside the warehouse?”

Javon thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Security cameras are—” He stopped himself, remembering something. “I’ll turn the entrance camera off for a minute. We’ll enter and I’ll have Hank turn it back on. They’ll think it’s just a glitch or something.”

“What about the camera’s inside the warehouse?”

“Hank can turn those off as we enter from section to section. You’ll only have a minute or two to peruse in each area, but that’s all I can give you.”

“How are you going to convince Hank to do all of that?”

“Give me a few hits and I’ll give Hank the rest. If you want in that badly, I can give you like a ten-minute looky-loo if you do this for us. A win-win. You feel me?”

Drew would have to extend that ten minutes, but right now, that little time

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